


Thorns of a Rose

by Farra13



Series: The Lion of Ferelden [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: AU-Divergence, Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gen, Intrigue, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Romance, Slow Burn, Star-crossed, Temptation, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farra13/pseuds/Farra13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book 1 of Varric Tethras' "The Lion of Ferelden"</p><p>9:29 Dragon. Knight Sergeant Cullen Rutherford is deployed to Highever at the head of the Grand Cleric's procession, his duty calls him to attend the annual Crown-Chantry assembly as a distinguished representative of the Templar Order. His path will cross with that of Elissa Cousland, a wild spitfire that seeks to defy the expectations placed upon her as the 'Rose of Ferelden', bringing about a change in the path of his lifeboth their lives that will have unseen repercussions.</p><p>The pair will confront a group of deadly fanatics bent on bringing the world to an end so it may be reborn, setting them on a path that will entwine their lives fully. But as they confront this strange new threat, things stir in the shadows, rumors of a coming Blight, strange Tevinter cultists and an obsession with one known as the 'conductor' will bring about a story that will define the Dragon age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a rewrite of a previous fic, now I have the time to devote to it. Its definite au that wills stretch over the three games and tie them together tightly, though events in Inquisition will obviously be much different, please don't be afraid to comment as all criticism is welcome.
> 
> I am writing without a beta, so all mistakes are my own. Thank you for reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story needs a narrator.

 

**Varric Tethras**

_Thorns of a Rose_

_Book 1 - Lion of Ferelden Series_

_First Edition - Signed 22nd Wintermarch 9:47 Dragon_

 

 

 

 

_Prologue_

* * *

Its an easy assumption Humans, Elves and Kossith make when they believe Dwarves for all extents and purposes are born to work metal and stone; to live far below the surface kingdoms in the deepest regions of Thedas' underground, though there are exceptions, I have to admit to an extent that they are right.

 

I was born with a unique and rare talent - not including my propensity and ability to puncture things from a great distance with my beloved lifepartner – and that was too spin a tale, a talent that I am unmatched on, despite what Hawke says.

 

I thought that my greatest tale was to be that of Marian, considering everything she accomplished – before it was brought crashing down – that was a safe assumption.

 

But I was wrong.

 

Hawke was not the protagonist of my most famous work, nor was 'Siren' or Evelyn Trevelyan the Inquisitor of Thedas, as her proper title is spoken. Instead it was someone both crossed paths with multiple times over the years, and in association the love of his life.

 

The Lion of Ferelden is his most famous title, but the man who holds it has been known under many others. The Warden Commander of the Grey, the Bane of Urthemial and the Redeemer of Adamant being three of the better known amongst them.

 

Though one could honestly argue that maybe his wife was more widely renowned as the Hero of Ferelden, the Liberator of Kinloch, the Slayer of Teyrn Loghain or her most recent, the Saviour of the Wardens. You can take your pick.

 

In order to do credit to their story, I have to go back to the beginning and explain where it all started. A meeting of chance that was perhaps tied together by destiny? Who knows? All I can say is that there is not a pair I respect more in this world for all they have endured and accomplished together, despite the rocky road of their relationship.

 

This is their story, one that spans from before the Fifth Blight and then all the way beyond the events of Thedas' reborn Inquisition.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I decided to rewrite this piece, I wanted to add a significant change and an idea that I hadn't seen before. So I decided what would it be like for Varric to actually tell the story, and considering its mainly Au its not hard to add my own take alongside it.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 _ _At last did the Maker__  
__From the living world__  
__Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth,__  
__With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,__  
__Endless possibilities.__

_****Threnodies 5:6** ** _

 

 

_****Act 1****_

_****Chapter 1:T** ** _ _****he Cost of Duty** ** _

* * *

 

 

__9:26 Dragon - 22nd Harvestmere_ _

__Castle Cousland,_ _ __Highever, Fereldan_ _

 

One hand clasped tightly around the meticulously carved limestone banister of the small gazebo that watched over the eastern castle garden's orchard, and the other holding an essential heirloom to the family line in the other. Bryce Cousland stood a solitary figure in the evening sun. Jaw tight with tension and mouth drawn to a thin line, he kept silent watch over the horizon. The waning amber of light was receding with the sunset slowly, drawing the shadows ever larger as it fell from the sky, dipping down behind the broad edge of the Waking sea and the rough terrain of the Carson Hills.

Above it lay the darkening maelstrom of a vast summer tempest, one that would have formed over the azure waters of the Rialto bay, drawing intensity from the heat of the arid Weyrs of Antiva before surging forth across the Free Marches. By the time it had crossed the Vinmark Mountains and absorbed the sand, dirt and decay of such a wretched place, it would have grown in magnitude and dwarfed the coastline ahead of rolling over the Waking sea. The elements of thunder and lighting will have joined its cause as the tropical storm encountered a certainly colder climate, taking on a new ferocious visage when the varying temperatures met and the winds grew in strength. Finally it would descend of the northern coast of the country, with Highever standing directly in its sightline.

Watching such a powerful display of nature emphasized the fact that few have any true modicum of mastery over the world, no matter how powerful an individual can become, be he the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium or the Emperor of Orlais, they could only influence so much of this world, even with the control of magic. As such he had no control of the future of Fereldan, his time in securing its place within the world of Thedas had passed with the Orlesian occupation, a bloody conflict that had bought the country independence and placed the royal bloodlines of the Therin dynasty back in its rightful place as the monarchy of a free Fereldan.

Now the responsibility of ensuring that it remained free and could grow to prosper fell directly to his beautiful pride and joy of a daughter. A burden he wasn’t allowed to carry for her, one that would likely destroy her hopes and dreams in one foul swoop.

He held his head high, refusing to allow his compassion to weaken his resolve, no matter how much his heart screamed not too. Casting a warm gaze over the rich verdant grass and between the fruitful branches of the pear trees, he caught his wild little spitfire Elissa darting amongst the flora with a bout of girlish laughter as her faithful Mabari hound Calenhad, who pursued her for the treat in her hand. He watched in contemplation, capturing the moment of her rolling to the ground with a smile, as Calenhad licked her face enthusiasticly until she released the morsel to his hungry jaws. Repeating the speech over and over in his head, the one that would alter her vision of what her life could be like. Bryce steeled himself, standing up straight and took a deep breath.

She would understand.

He turned the small brooch he had been holding over, studying the intricate green laurel wreath of Highever that had been engraved atop a small blue shield of silverite, a shield that had been bordered in delicate silver script depicting the family adage.

“ _When I must be, I am a Cousland. We do what must be done.”_

It was as much a token of the families legacy as it was a beautiful piece from the families jewel collection. Passed from each head of the family to the firstborn of their children, it became a symbol of commitment, but Eleanor no longer needed it and Fergus had declined in favour of his own custom rings for his marriage. _Perhaps it was meant for Elissa_ , he sighed heavily as the truth reared its cruel face. _Though she would never be able to use it..._

It was a bright spring day as Bryce shrugged of the thin velvet cloak that hung from his shoulders, laying the deep cobalt fabric across the stone bench to his left, stretching out his shoulders, he hid the piece in his hand back in his pocket. Bracing him self with deep reassuring breaths, Bryce strode down the high steps into the gardens below, sending the Maker an abrupt prayer that his tempestuous daughter didn’t ignite in a fit of pique for what he was about to ask of her, she was still so young but saw the world from such a mature perspective. _I can only hope she realizes my intentions and remorse._

The vine ridden stone arch that led into the orchard was flanked by a pair of Cousland household knights, clad in the distinct blue imbued steel light plate, hidden underneath dark beryl tabards marked with the family crest. Distinguished by the crested helms that had a trio of swan feathers perched upon each side, the knights were hand picked by the Teyrn himself to serve in the thirty strong force responsible for the families personal protection, a position that was granted great honor and respect from the people of Highever for their service. Each knight was granted their position after being sworn in under the Teyrn's sword, and every man and woman had undergone the trial of tide before they could even be considered as per tradition.

“My Teyrn.” The younger knight, Ser Carne bowed gracefully, only his eyes between the nose guard were visible atop the cotton scarf that covered their mouths and nose before being tucked under the curiass.

Bryce glanced to Ser Alistair Gilmore, the father of one of his daughters closest friends and the captain of the household knights. “At ease, you are both dismissed.”

With a hand pressed to their chests, the pair made to move away before Ser Gilmore paused. “I'm sorry it came to this my Teyrn...”

“As am I Alistair, as am I...” He dropped his head low for a moment, before regaining his composure and standing up straight.

Ser Gilmore gave a hesitant glance through the arch, shaking his head in a mournful manner before striding away to meet his colleague, leaving Bryce standing with trepidation rooting him to the spot.

He clasped the blade at his side tightly, forcing himself to walk along the flagstones of the path and reminded himself how ' _Couslands always do their duty.'_ Though the words felt bitter on his tongue.

There she stood, his little Elissa at the age of fifteen as she stretched high to graps a low hanging peach, Calenhad circling her protectively before pausing and turning curious eyes to Bryce. Eyes that hardened slowly, the Mabari showing its famed intelligence as he stalked forward to insert himself between father and daughter.

"Father, is it mid morning tea already?"

He was so engrossed at that point with watching Calenhad, that he didn't realize her innocuous question was ruse, his gaze flicked to hers and the cold apprehension in those deep vivid green eyes made his heart clench.

"No pup. There is something we have to discuss."

She was regarding him with such a closed of manner and by the way her frame was rigid, gaze narrowed at the hand clasping his blade. _She is scared of me, of what is to come..._

Elissa ran her slender fingers through her dark tresses with a slight tremble, the quiver of her lip coupled with the scrunching of her brow, all pointed to how anxious and upset she was. "So it has finally come to this."

The flat tone that was laced with such bitterness almost broke his mask of stone, he had to be strong. The world's future was such an uncertain place and Fereldan's continued existence wasn’t guaranteed in it. The country would rely on the 'Rose of Highever' to secure an essential alliance, possibly with some of the most powerful nations in Thedas.

"Pup...  _ _Sweetheart__ , please… don't shut me out. Let us talk of this like adults." She nodded in resignation as Calenhad cast a questionable glance to her when she waved him off, his whine only protracted Bryce's guilt as he sensed the pain her staunch companion felt for her.

 Elissa strode gracefully like an Orlesian ballet dancer atop the soft grass and onto the path, but for a moment with her head held high and such steel in her spine, it was like seeing her mother at age twenty once more, back to the day when she had marched across the Mistral's deck all those years ago during the occupation. In those very same eyes was the determination and strength that he had fell so hopelessly in love with, but that was a very different time and situation altogether.

Both sat side by side quietly to the sound of sweet birdsong and the rustle of branches as the thin skeletal limbs graced with colourful leaves swayed in the cool breeze, Bryce had clasped his hands tightly attempting to fight off the sweat that poured from his palms. He could slay a Chevalier in single combat without a moment of hesitation, or argue down some of the nations most influential individuals with but a few words.

Dealing with his daughter in such a manner however, he wasn't even sure where to even begin.

"I'm surprised mother isn't with you, surely a ' _ _united__ _ _'__ front would be a better idea for this." He wasn't surprised she had taken the initiative, his Elissa was anything but shy and in any conflict of either mind or matter, she did not falter or hesitate when making the first move. His throat was tight, with nerves that could only be compared to a soldiers first live battle, he shook his head and prepared himself for one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

 "She thought it would be better if we spoke father to daughter, we didn't want this to be a fight." She laughed, a broken sound like shattering glass that came out choked at the end, the slight sheen of tears across her eyes left Bryce shaking with emotional pain and a sharp pang of guilt.

"So I should just __lie__ down and accept the fact that I am to be traded to the highest bidder, to prepare for a life as an __ornament__ on someones arm." Bryce breathed deep calming breaths and prayed for the strength to place such a hardship on his daughters shoulders.

 "Fereldan needs allies sweetheart, Orlais looks to our borders daily with Maric having been gone for over four years now." She didn't respond, only staring through the opening in the trees towards the grey waters of the sea.

"Cailin and Anora do not hold the same mark of strength that he did, __Maker__ Elissa, even Nevarra has been seen venturing into our waters and I don't want to see you having to go through the trails I faced at your age with another war."

 Elissa snorted inelegantly with such acerbity it made him cringe. "So what am I? something to placate our foes, a __token__ of goodwill? I am a person father!"

 Bryce stared down at his feet, how was it possible to argue his offspring's duties against her wants in life, to deny her happiness for the future of so many. "Oriana is happy pup, arranged marriages are not the be all and end all of love, you may fall your partner as she did."

" _ _O__ _ _h__ and who __compares__ to Fergus father... how many nobles have his tact or grace, he is not entitled or arrogant. Oriana was so fortunate to have found him..." Bryce hung his head, it was true that his son was a remarkable individual among the upper class and compared to most was almost a different race altogether.

 "And foreign nobles are worse, Orlesian, Marcher or Antivan, it doesn’t matter.All drip with egotism and pride as they stand over us _ _savage__ _ _'__ doglords', they will see me as nothing more than a trophy to won and then tasked to providing them with heirs, is this what you want for me?"

 Bryce stared at his daughter as if she had grown two heads, __how could she think that?__ He wanted her happy, content with a place in life where she flourished, not under the boot of some pretentious idiot, one who had no idea what he was restraining within her. But Fereldan needed a military alliance to survive the next century and Elissa was the key, he was being forced to give up one of the most precious things close to his heart to protect so many, and it was killing him.

 "Elissa, we don't have a choice. __Please!__ I don't want to do this anymore than you, perhaps a deal..." He took a deep breath, _a compromise that could work for both sides._

 "Like what! That I can forfeit the first three, that I could take a lover on top of my wedding vows." Just the thought of his daughter in such a matter made his stomach curl, but her venomous words were starting to ignite his anger.

"That you can choose to renege on any betrothals until you are twenty one! But after that, your mother and I will be forced to intervene." The silence was rife with tension so thick he wasn't even sure his blade could cut through it, the air was stifling and he felt hollow at having to force her to do this.

"Its not as if I have a choice is it, I may as well become a convential noblewoman then." Her tears were flowing openly as she stood, her back to him as she paced a moment while Calenhad's eyes moved to Bryce with the shadows of rage in those dark brown orbs.

"Sweetheart..."

"Don't! Don't try to make this better father, I will do as is expected. 'Couslands always do their duty' correct?" Bryce nodded numbly as a side of his daughter seemed to slip away, she looked older in that moment and a lightness to her was gone, replaced by a haughty glare as she rose her head in defiance to his words.

"Then I will join the court as any lady does, listen to the gossip, play the game as it exepcted." If there was one thing Bryce was proud off, it was that his children had never partook in the whims and ploys of the nobility. They didn't encourage rumors or create scandals, didn't laugh at other misfortune or slip into hedonistic practices at night.

It was at that moment the irreparable damage he had sown was visible, his little girl would be changed forever by this moment.

"Elissa" She smiled but there was no happiness in her eyes, only a empty acrimony that left him breathless.

"Father it is alright, I have come to accept that this was to happen one day."

"I'm so sorry, if there was another way..." She glanced up and for a moment there was a glint of pure love before it was crushed under an emotionless mask of stone.

"You would have found it." As she went to turn away Bryce desperately reached for the brooch.

"Sweetheart just one more moment, __please__." She glanced back with a quizzical frown at the high anguished tone of his voice.

"This token has been in our family since it was forged at the very founding of the Cousland Noble line, when Sarim himself took over control of Highever." She looked down and slowly clasped the piece in confusion.

"A brooch?" Bryce hummed and gently reached out to stroke her cheek, surprised she allowed it, even for a second.

"Yes, it is a gift of promise, one that is usually worn by the paramour of the head of the family. But Eleanor wanted you to have it." Elissa tilted her head, studying the small piece carefully as she ran an appraising touch over it.

"Why?" She had closed off again and her voice was cold as ice when Bryce pressed it into her hand.

"If you find someone you trust with your heart and soul.." He took a breath as her eyes widened at his the passion and honesty in his voice. "Then give them this to wear to show the family who they are, maybe... maybe we can find a way for you to be truly happy, but you must choose carefully. The fate of a nation is a heavy thing to way against the desires of the heart."

A flash of hope crossed her face as the little girl he thought extinguished flared in her momentarily, she lowered her lashes and small shy smile twisted her lips.

"Thank you." It was but a whisper, but it lightened his heart as his little girl turned away and slowly walked out of the garden.

He only hoped he had done the right thing, that he wouldn't cost Fereldan its future freedom because of the weakness of a loving parent.

He turned his gaze back to the horizon, muttering a prayer to the Maker to bring a safe future and life to his little girl, the vast storm closing on Highever was not a good omen, somehow he believed that prayer may likely go unanswered.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 _The one who repents, who has faith,_  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
They shall know true peace.

  _ **Transfigurations 10:1**_

 

 

_**Act 1** _

_**Chapter 2: What we Endure** _

* * *

 

 

 

 9:27 Dragon—11th Kingsway

Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden

 

 A single knight, armoured and bloody had cast himself down on his knees at the feet of the effigy of Andraste, the cast bronze idol held no judgement for the broken man before it, even as he rocked back and forth rigidly while skirting the edges of sanity. The low but distinct words of the chant falling from his mouth desperately, his voice-pleading for any form of relief from the agony in his heart.

 

“O Maker, hear my cry, guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places.”

 

The amber light of the thick scented beeswax candlesilluminated his form in the otherwise darkened chamber, his large frame highlighted as the flames danced across the edges of his armour. His face was clearly exposed amongst the shadows, pain and despair written across it.

 

“O Creator, see me kneel, for I walk only where you would bid me, stand only in places you have blessed, sing only the words you place in my throat.”

 

His gauntlets clasped tightly in prayer despite the gore that coated the polished steel, throat raw and hoarse from screaming both in rage and anguish. He continued to follow the verses, even if his vocal cords were taught as rope from a ship's rigging, threatening to tear under the strain of his own words.

 

“My Maker, know my heart, take from me a life-”

 

“-of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain, judge me worthy of your endless pride.” He was joined by another voice, warm and maternal – the kind that belonged to someone familiar with both joy and pain after a long life. But one that wouldn't allow him to open his eyes, he remained too fearful to see the pity and heartbreak across her face, expressions that would somehow make the nightmare he was living real.

 

“My Creator, judge me whole, find me well within your grace, touch-” He choked on the next word, a harsh sob emitting from his throat, flinchingsharply as a warm hand grazed the back of his neck gently.

 

“Shhh, shhh. Its okay, its okay Cullen.” He swallowed thickly, trembling as the digits of her fingers slowly stroked his hair.”Say it with me.”

 

“Touch me with fire that I be cleansed, tell me I have sung to your approval.” He paused for a quiet moment of silenceafter they finished, feeling the scolding trail of hot tears as they dripped down his cheeks, the fierce beat of his overwrought heart filling his ears.

 

_She's gone..._

He opened his mouth but came up short of breath, his emotions too tangled and mind completely numb, unable to respond with any semblance of either words or gestures. He focused on the consoling motions of the woman next to him, her warm aura radiating security and assurance despite being a mage, something he was taught was incredibly dangerous to allow yourself to relax around.

 

But he found the next words because of it, a second wind of strength from just a small show of support. “O Maker, hear my cry, seat me by your side in death, make me one within your glory, and let the world once more see your favour.”

 

“Take your time young man, it will come.” He nodded slowly in agreement, focusing on deep calm breaths and ignoring the sharp copper scent of blood that filled his nose.

 

“For you are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only yours to give.”

 

“Transfigurations twelve, one through six. A beautiful representation of fortitude in the darkest times.” He didn't respond, only remaining drawn into himself, knees digging deep into the crimson and gold embroidered carpet the covered the grey flagstones of the chamber floor.

 

“You can't stay like this Cullen, we need to get you up wash of the-”

 

“Blood… Her blood.” He opened his eyes, his gaze drawn to his own hands that remained hidden under stained red metal. “She's dead.” He whispered low and broken.

 

“Yes she is, I'm… I'm so sorry.” His chin shook with the force of the sorrow that him hard and sudden, another drawn out whimper as he fought to keep just a fragment of his composure.

 

“I can't go back out there.” He didn’t move as the hemline of a delicately stitched robe entered his vision, though his sightless stare remained fixed on the floor, he could still see the shape of a familiar woman lean down in his peripheral.

 

“You have to young man, you can't stay here.” He shook his head, adamantly refusing to either look up or move with the intense weight on his shoulders.

 

“Its safe here, its a sanctuary.” She tutted under breath before slowly going down on one knee.

 

“We can only hide so long. To remain oblivious to a truth for but a matter of moments once its spoken out loud.” She paused, gently grasping his left hand. “Refusing to acknowledge it doesn't make it a lie I'm afraid.”

 

“But she can't just be gone, such a vibrant person can't just be taken from the world, it...it...” He took a sharp breath. Focusing on the familiar calming smells of incense and the crystals grace that the initiates replaced daily – trying in vain to remain in control.

 

“Its not fair, but neither is life. She may have departed this world Cullen, but she now stands at the Makers side.” He slammed his fist into the fabric that lay draped over the cold stonework, fury rushing into his veins.

 

“Ser Mettin says Mages aren’t welcome at the Maker's side.” The woman scoffed loudly, bringing herself closer and trying to catch Cullen's eyes.

 

“Ser Mettin is a bigoted fool, a man so wrapped up in his own prejudices that he fails to recognise that Mages _are_ people as well.” He snarled lowly, his misery slowly bleeding into rage.

 

“They are people, I know that! And yet we, _we_ Templars tear them from their homes, rip them from their families and imprison them far from the outside world. How can we treat people like that!” She didn’t respond as Cullen began to rise gradually, using the anger as a crutch.

 

“Her family shunned her, they sent her way without a thought and refused to ever have anything to do with her!” He twisted round immediately, putting his back to her in order to hide the shame and disgust on his face for being a part of an Order that encouraged such practices.

 

“I know-” He cut her off with a violent swipe of his hand as he glared at the idol of Andraste, looking to the Maker's bride as if she had the answers.

 

“Who will remember her?! Who will think of her when the sun sets below the horizon? When we count another day without her in our lives!” He shook his head, huffing in disdain and misery at the sheer thought of her just being forgotten, as if she never existed.

 

“We will, we will remember her for the rest of our lives.” He choked back a sob as the bleakness settled back in.

 

“Will we? Ten years from now will we remember the beautiful, smiling, irreverent young mage who was cremated and then buried without a grave? Her memory suppressed by her family and the outside world for being born with magic. A wonderful, warm and loving person abandoned and forgotten because of a gift that she didn't even choose to have? How can that be allowed?” The woman was silent, obviously the words hitting close to home as she carried the same 'gift' in her blood.

 

“As I said, life is never fair Cullen, for Mages _especially_. We carry a heavy burden and responsibility, and pay a heavy price for it.” He finally faced her fully, meeting the glassy eyes of Senior Enchanter Wynne. “We are given only few moments of true happiness in our lives, but those we do have are worth more to us than anything.”

 

He nodded solemnly, feeling a burning resentment for himself at that moment, for denying the women he loved a true life. “She wanted to see her home-city, to walk the streets of Kirkwall, even though she knew it was a dismal place.” He shook his head with a sad laugh.

 

“Solona wanted nothing more than to see the world, and in her entire nineteen years she never left this accursed tower once, not once.” Wynne smiled morosely at his words.

 

“She wanted other things as well Cullen, to be the youngest Enchanter in the circles history. To see Alim fulfil his research on entropic bindings.” She paused a moment, staring at him in a calculated manner before speaking slowly.

 

“To fall in love.” He remained frozen on the spot, eyes filled with terror as he shakily shook his eyes away from her piercing gaze.

 

“I-” To her, he must of looked like an animal trapped in the corner, terrified at what that insinuation would mean for him. _To think, a Templar admitting he fell in love with a mage, in a chapel of the Maker_ _'s bride_ _. The irony._

 

“You don't need to say anything Cullen, I knew about the two of you.” He reeled back, trying to find a valid lie that could work. “Don't bother, I knew from the very beginning, you've been together nearly six months.”

 

“How?” He croaked.

 

“I confronted her and she admitted it.” She shook her head fondly, giving a watery smile. “Oh how she put on such a scene. Telling me to mind my own business, how much you meant to her and how she didn’t want you to lose your commission.” She almost whispered her last words. “She loved you so much.” The words struck him immediately and shattered his poise as he broke down once more, sobbing quietly into his elbow

 

“I see, I'm so sorry Cullen, you loved her as well?” He nodded pitifully, head still shielded by his arm.

 

“More that I could ever put into words.” Wynne glanced away, eyes wet with moisture as well before speaking with a shaky voice.

 

“I'm glad, she was at least happy when she passed.”

 

“She saved me.” Wynne nodded sadly, releasing his hand and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She blocked the blow with her body, knowing my natural magic resistance wouldn’t extend to such powerful blood enhanced magic.”

 

“I know, she was such a brave girl.”

 

“She's gone, and I feel as if everyone will just forget her like they do the others. All those who fail their Harrowings, those who defy the Knight Commander or practice forbidden magic.” He remained quiet after a moment, carefully sorting his thoughts.

 

“They won't just forget her Cullen. I know I won't, she was far too much of a personable young girl.” He bit his tongue, reigning in the heat in his next words.

 

“Do you honestly believe that Wynne?” He clenched his fists, staring at the floor. “I overheard Dana's friends trying to recall a time when they pulled a prank on the First Enchanter, its been nearly a year and two of them couldn't even remember her name...”

 

“Some find it harder to remember than others, its difficult to not give in to despair if you try to think of all the friends you will lose over your time in the circle. Mages have a high mortality rate, some find forgetting how many of those close to us that we lose as a way to cope with it.”

 

“I won't let her memory die.” She gave him an affectionate smile, looking almost proud of him.

 

“What will you do?”

 

“Request leave, I will go to Kirkwall with her ashes. Her family has a graveyard just outside the city limits, from what I understand there is only a single member of the family left at their estate. I will ask for his permission to have a gravestone carved and take the time to give her a proper funeral, its the least she deserves from me.” She withdrew her hand, cupping his face so he could meet her eyes.

 

“That's a wonderful thing to do Cullen, I knew what she saw in you was a rare thing. She was obviously very lucky.” Cullen shrugged shyly, turning away with heated cheeks coated in salty tear trails.

 

“I was the lucky one.” He murmured quietly, remaining silent as Wynne glanced over her shoulder hesitantly.

 

“Cullen we have to get you cleaned up, we can't stay any longer in the chapel. Greagoir only let me in to see you on the condition that I convince you to give him a full account of what happened.” He tensed up, heart beating fiercely in dread at the idea of having to relive what just happened.

 

“I don't want to.”

 

“I know, but he needs to know everything about the apprentice that escaped, his girlfriend hasn’t been forthcoming.” He nodded in understanding letting Wynne guide him by the arm towards the door on shaky legs.

 

He held a steadying hand on the arch of the entranceway, steeling himself to walk back out into the corridors. “I'll be right here Cullen.”

 

“Why did they send you instead of Hadley or Carroll?” She pulled the heavy oak door open, ushering him through into the lit hallway. The pair ambled slowly through the long passages, feet clicking on the dark ancient stonework, as the silence grew long and uncomfortable.

 

“I volunteered before either of them could, Knight-Sergeant Hadley was reluctant but agreed it was for the best. I am quite sure my boy that he knew of your relationship with miss Amell.” He was too exhausted to feel anxious about such a dangerous secret being known to a senior officer, instead he focused on moving his feet, glancing to the empty corridors as they passed through the Templar quarters towards the infirmary.

 

“That doesn't matter now.” Wynne threw him an incredulous look but said nothing, obviously his face already held the answer to her question.

 

He refused to even meet any of his fellow Templars questions of concern, those that had gathered in the mess hall fell away, when they realised he wasn't going to speak at all. He meanwhile kept his head down as Wynne guided him, unable to see the pity or concern in their eyes for one of their own.

 

The infirmary was a vast curved chamber, dozens of cots followed the shape of the room with being placed against the far wall. Only a single formatari occupied it, lost in his measurements of the elfroot and embrium that filled the room with an almost sharp cloying scent that made his stomach roil.

 

“Here, just lie against the wall and relax Cullen. I'm just going to ask the Knight-Sergeant on duty to get you some fresh plain clothes from your room, I'll be right back.” He nodded in a dazed manner, his tongue feeling to thick in his mouth to talk.

 

His gaze moved to his armoured hands, clenching and unclenching slowly as he watched the crimson blood that had dried to the metal peel of as the finger guards grazed each other. He felt a biting cold in his limbs as he laid his head back against the brick, mouth dry with the overwhelming warmth of the fire the Formatari was drying herbs with.

 

Wynne returned momentarily, pausing momentarily alongside another knight he didn’t recognise. From their looks he must have looked pitiful as they approached hesitantly, almost fearful that he may bolt like a scared child.

 

Over the next few minutes the pair slowly unbuckled his plate, the knight who he had come to know as a recruit named Harlond gathering the pieces and laying them out. Wynne had drawn up a small bowl of water and warmed it using the nearby herb oven, gently washing the exposed skin with a soft piece of linen.

 

By the time they were finished he was sat in but his gambeson and leggings, both of which were crusted over with arterial blood that had seeped in-between the gaps in the plate, colouring the red material a sick mottled brown and leaving it stiff with each of his movements.

 

“Drink this Cullen and then sit back so we can get you out of your under-armour.” Wynne turned back to the recruit, casually ordering him to draw up a privacy curtain despite the fact he was under no obligation to obey her commands.

 

He sipped the crystal grace infused tea, thanking Wynne silently for the drop of brandy he could taste as it warmed his belly and helped to control the trembling of his hands. He relished the calming effect of the herb as he felt his heart begin to calm and the nausea start to abate, taking a deep breath he reached out and squeezed Wynne's hand as she washed the last of the gore from his exposed fingers.

 

She gently pulled him too his feet and drew him behind the curtain, leaving him to throw off his old clothing and wash before changing. By the time he pulled the fabric aside he felt more like himself rather than the deadened individual that had entered the chapel, Wynne dismissed the recruit with the under-armour and orders to burn them which had Cullen smirking at the boys both nervous and eager face.

 

“Come, Greagoir and Irving are no doubt awaiting our arrival at the Knight-Commander's office.”

* * *

 

 

 They entered the great hall to little fanfare, instead the vast anteroom was alive with the roar of a crowd as both Cullen and Wynne took in the scene of chaos before them. Dozens of Mages and Templars littered the open room, arguing loudly over multiple of conversations, few of which either of the pair could understand due to the general heat and speed of them. Though as they spotted Cullen and Wynne's forms brushing through the mob, they fell quiet one by one.

 

The entire chamber became transfixed on the weathered senior enchanter leading a unarmoured Templar through the masses, only low murmurs and hissed whispers could be heard. He was almost caught of guard as the shrill yell of a Libertarian broke the tense stillness as they reached the centre dais before others joined him, Cullen couldn't help but recoil at the venom in their voices, venom directed at him.

 

“Coward, you hide behind an innocent mage instead of face a Maleficar, I thought Templars were supposed to protect we Magi from such dangers!?” The tall lanky mage, eyes alight with glee at his opportunity, surged forward drawing eyes too him as he pointed boldly at Cullen in accusation.

 

“Senior Enchanter Uldred! Get your Enchanter under control!” Roared Knight-Captain Drowich as he stormed into the hall from where Wynne and Cullen had entered, a half dozen additional knights at his back as they rushed towards the pair that remained on the centre platform.

 

His cold blue eyes were set on the tall, bald form of the Libertarian Senior Enchanter as he ordered his knights to break apart the particularly tense groups that had been arguing angrily.

 

“I see no reason to not let Enchanter Dillon have his say, or are you suggesting we are not allowed to exercise of freedom of speech within our own domain.” The two opposites held a steely battle of will, Uldred's eyes flashing defiance as he dared Drowich to take the bait in denying a fundamental right of Mages within the tower.

 

“Knight-Captain, are you suggesting that we should not ask of Mage Amells death!? Perhaps you wish to hide the fact that a member of _your_ chapter not only failed to protect her, but actively caused her death.” Cullen glanced to the floor, unwilling to argue in his defence against Enchanter Dillons' tirade, the shame tearing at his heart. _I did fail to protect her._

 

“I won't ask again Libertarian, get back in line!” Drowich growled as his knights formed a line of steel plate, hands on their blades while Uldred, Dillon and a half dozen other Mages remained disregardful of his threat.

 

“Surely you would not use lethal force to subdue us Knight-Captain? For we are simply voicing our question of whether your Templar was responsible for Mage Amell's death?” Cullen could see the incredible tension in Drowich's form as he came within inches of the infamous head of the Libertarians, he could see the Templars arms vibrating with restraint as he was once more forced to try and diffuse the situation.

 

“I will do as deemed necessary Senior enchanter.” He nearly snarled through clenched teeth, the two leading members of the circle hierarchy had always been at each others throats. Though mainly through Uldred's proclivity for inciting heated debates and controversial rallies at the very worst moments, usually taking advantage – as he was now – of an already dangerous divide between Mages and Templars.

 

“Then please do, cut us down and show my fellow magi just what happens when we question our so called 'guardians'. Why don't you show them what happens when you defy the Templar Order in the call of justice for innocent Mages?” Drowich drew back, eyes wide with incomprehension.

 

“Justice?” He parroted in bewilderment.

 

“Yes, we all know that your Knight-Templar there.” He locked gazes with Cullen who was shaking with indignation. “He is the one responsible for Mage Amell's death. His incompetence and cowardice is why she lies dead in the lower healing chambers.”

 

Uldred raised his hands, stepping into the middle of his gathered cohorts as the eyes of every mage and Templar lay fixed on him. “He is but one of many my fellow Magi, one that would not even hesitate to let any of us die if it kept either him or his fellow knights safe, and he would go unpunished for an act of such disregard of life.”

 

“You were the one that killed her when you dragged Mage Amell in front of you.” He shouted at Cullen, his lips twisted into a victorious grin as the Libertarians began to yell in support.

 

The entire hall erupted into a fit of antagonism as Mages from other fraternities began to throw out more accusations and insults, Templars responded with shouts of denial or anger at their unwarranted allegations. The entire situation became volatile as the room began to divide, the libertarians and a worrying amount of the usually neutral Aequetarians moved to band together.

 

Uldred seemed to bask in the chaos as swords were drawn and the veil began to tear simultaneously within the hall, at the very last moment before blood was spilt, a booming voice shattered the hostile standoff with a denouncement laced with anger and disapproval. “That is not what happened Uldred and you know it, look at all of you! Just what in the name of Andraste do you think you are all doing!”

 

If First Enchanter Irving's voice was considered 'booming' then Knight Commander Greagoir's was nothing less than thunderous as he stormed towards the centre of the chamber, fire in his eyes. “There will be order in this tower!”

 

All eyes were then focused on Greagoir as he took the centre dais, Irving at his side. “Stand-down Templars, sheathe your blades.” The knights glanced between each other, apprehension on the few faces that weren’t covered but their plate helms before they carried out their order. “And Mages! The next of you to even draw on your powers in such a manner will be made tranquil, I will not abide conflict in my Circle.”

 

The Mages knowing the conviction and belief of the Knight Commander immediately withdrew, lowering their staffs and relaxing from their casting stances. “Senior Enchanter Uldred, I suggest the next time you have concerns of the way my Knights carry out their duties, you discuss it with myself in private, not make wild accusations based on unfounded gossip. You were not present during the incident in which a mage of this Circle was killed by a depraved Maleficar, one I may point out was under your tutelage for a short while.” Uldred fell silent as many glanced questionably too him, though his lack of response was the only answer they needed even as he remained insolent.

 

“I can assure you all, the men and women of this chapter are dedicated to nothing less that keeping you safe and well treated within this tower, as for your ridiculous recrimination of Ser Cullen, I witnessed Mage Amell put herself in the direct path of that spell personally. He is nothing more than an innocent bystander in this matter.” Cullen let out a breath of relief as Wynne glanced to Irving, continuing to lead Cullen round towards the Circle's senior leaderships offices and way from the stillhostile faces of the Mages.

 

“Now I have an investigation to complete and a series of accounts to review. You are all to disperse and return to your quarters, there will be no more lessons or studies for today. You may reconvene for the evening meal at the sixth bell, until then I will not tolerate anything less than full cooperation.” Greagoir gave a silent nod to Irving before he spoke.

 

“As the Knight-Commnader has decreed, lessons for today have been suspended. Those of you with either personal tutoring or exams must speak with their resident enchanter. I am not pleased to see so many of you so eager to resort to violence, it is not the way to show the world that mages can be trusted, especially if we are so willing to abuse our Maker given gifts.” Many looked more than guilty and remorseful at Irving's disappointed gaze, his eyes locked with Uldred's before hardening and his mouth drawing into a line.

 

“And as for you Senior Enchanter Uldred, I expect a more restrained approach to such matters from such an esteemed colleague, it does you no credit to be seen inciting discord between us and the Templars.” He moved to address the entire Libertarian fraternity, as many looked towards their First Enchanter with scepticism at his words of peace.

 

“I understand you are all campaigning for change, but that takes time. Do any of you really believe that by using magic as a weapon, that you send a message to the world that mages are not either too violent or tempestuous to be allowed more freedom and self autonomy?” The entire group remained tight lipped, not uttering a single argument.

 

“Do you believe that if you had killed any of the Templars in our circle today, that the King of Ferelden or the Divine in Val Royeaux would be sympathetic to your cause?” He shook his head and spoke softly. “No, you all know they wouldn't.” Everything was still for a short while, the only noise being the clatter of plate armour as the Templars reorganized and began to divide up into escorts and patrols.

 

“You should all think on that, now I have much work to do and all of you no doubt have private atters and affairs to attend to.” He took a step down from the dais with Greagoir as the mages began to move away, though Cullen caught the last venomous glare from Uldred directed at the First Enchanter before he stalked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm aiming for a few differences to Cullen, though many will point out he may seem somewhat out of character in this chapter and the next. But you must remember, he is slightly older than cannon here. I've put him at about twenty and a half currently and will be about twenty three at the start of the Blight, also many should be aware that he was mage sympathetic before the events of broken circle. 
> 
> I've had to split the chapter into two to fit it together properly, as there was too much back story to add all at once. I've mainly tried to create a sense of his personal relationships, mainly in Wynne and Surana who comes in the next. I also wanted to demonstrate the tension in Kinloch existed far before its uprising, something Uldred is instrumental in.
> 
> All mistakes are mine as I have no beta, please don't hesitate to comment and thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

_Foul and corrupt are you_  
Who have taken My gift  
And turned it against My children.

_**Transfigurations 18:10** _

 

 

**_Act 1_ **

**_Chapter 3:The Course We Set_ **

* * *

 

 

 

9:27 Dragon—11th Kingsway

Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden

 

“I still believe it is reasonable to perhaps look into relieving Uldred as the head of the Libertarians.” Both Irving and Wynne threw the Knight-Commander looks of disbelief, something Cullen could understand as the sheer absurdity of such an ill thought move would only incite further support for Uldred.

 

“I don't believe that's a wise course of action Greagoir, the man would only claim that the Circle is attempting to silence any voices of opposition to independence through force.” Greagoir threw his hands up in annoyance as the foursome reached the entrance hall to his office, shaking his head profusely with a familiar look of restrained anger.

 

“We cannot allow him to continue spreading such dissonance throughout the tower, did you not see how on edge things were in there Irving. The Mages were moments away from igniting a full on insurrection.”

 

“It only takes a single spark to start an inferno.” Greagoir nodded in agreement to Wynne before grasping Irving's shoulder to bring him to a halt.

 

“She is right, better we prevent the fire from igniting, rather than waiting to quell it.” Irving sighed heavily, glancing to a trio of younger apprentices as they chatted happily under the watchful gaze of a single Templar whilst waiting for Senior Enchanter Torrin to each his office.

 

“Better to try and erase his base of power Greagoir, to attempt to remove his fractious influence from the minds of his fraternity members.” Greagoir scoffed, shaking his head in disagreement.

 

“Its not his fellow Libertarians I fear, its the apprentices. He fills their minds with ideas of a mage freedom, life without any security or oversight from the Templars. He teaches them to fear us, and doesn't deny wishing to be free of our watch.” He stopped at the reinforced double doors of his chambers, unlocking the outer entrance and stepping into a wide solar, before gesturing them through and ordering a pair of guards to the doorway.

 

Cullen took in the scene of the dozen or so scribes and off-duty knights that were filling out an array of paperwork atop a long stone table on the far side of the room. Another group of Templar officers were sequestered on a trio of benches sat to the groups right, deep in discussion about redeployments. The entire area was obviously the heart of the towers Templar command, and as the group trailed through towards then other-side, Cullen couldn't help but make note of dossiers labelled 'Tevinter' on one of the smaller desks.

 

“That fear stays ingrained in their minds and soon enough they believe us to be monsters, jailers that are waiting for but the tiniest transgression so we may execute them. The young man from this morning is a prime example, he turned to blood magic of all things in his desperation to escape. And as of the last dozen Maleficar in the past year we have dealt with, nine have been students of Uldred, there are far too many to be such a coincidence.” Pushing open the second set of doors to his office, Greagoir gestured to the three seats arranged around his desk, pausing to send another knight on a separate duty before dismissing the rest.

 

“I'm even more suspicious of sightings of him moving towards the basement, there are no records of him accessing any of the storage areas or interacting with any of the tranquil.”

 

“I'm sure its nothing more than the man clearing his head Greagoir, its one of the few places that is both quiet and able to offer solitude. There isn't much else down there anyway.” He grunted in affirmation as he sat down in the high backed armchair behind his workstation, glancing to Irving as the First Enchanter began to speak.

 

“I feel you are being blinded by your dislike of the man Greagoir, though a firebrand he may be. Uldred has identified many blood Mages over the years, the man has a certain ability at rooting them out. I truly believe him to be innocent of such a thing, and didn’t you just make a speech about 'unfounded accusations'? “ Greagoir looked momentarily furious before he took a deep breath, sighing in resignation at the man's point.

 

“Alright, I will follow you lead on this Irving. Though if the man continues to step out of line..” Cullen had no doubt that Greagoir wouldn’t hesitate to act, something he didn't disagree with. No one matched Uldred's charisma and leaderships abilities and although it was unjust and wrong, perhaps taking him out of the equation would help stabilize the tower in the long run, despite the immediate fallout.

 

“I understand. Now, we are here for a very specific and tragic reason. Shall we get started?” Greagoir nodded gruffly, withdrawing a piece of parchment and calling a scribe in from his staff in the solar.

 

“You have been silent the entire time since leaving the great hall Ser Cullen, are you well enough to continue?” Cullen glanced up as Irving spoke softly, pity and sadness in his eyes. He began to feel uncomfortable as he realised that perhaps Irving knew of him and Solona, after all she was his personal apprentice and he was well known for his incredible perception.

 

“He's a Templar Irving, we do not need to be coddled like your Mages. Ser Cullen, are you prepared to give your account?” Despite Wynne's hostile glare to Greagoir's blunt and cold demeanour, Cullen saluted with a quiet 'yes ser'. “Good.”

 

For over the next thirty minutes the foursome discussed the events of Solona Amell's death, her attempt to help a desperate friend and the price she paid for doing so. Cullen remained stoic throughout the discussion, keeping calm and stonefaced until Greagoir ordered the scribe to finish up and leave, leaning his elbows on the desk and balancing his chin on top of his clasped hands.

 

“Now I think it is time that we discussed your personal relationship with Mage Amell, Ser Cullen.” He stiffened but gave no other outward signs of anxiety as he met the mans eyes with steel.

 

“What of it Knight-Commander?” Greagoir seemed to access him slowly, searching for an answer in the emotionless face Cullen had drawn on, something all Templars learned to channel is situations of extreme discomfort. Such as removing a mage child from their immediate family, or when your Knight-Commander questions how closely involved you are with one of your charges.

 

“I want an honest answer Ser Cullen, or so help me I will strip you of your rank.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Were Apprentice Amell and yourself involved in anything related to a romantic nature?”

 

Wynne cut in with a scandalized voice as she rallied against Greagoir. “How does that have any bearing on these proceedings? You wanted a full account of Cullen's knowledge of the day's events. Not to exacerbate an already painful time for him.”

 

“Of course it does, I want to know why an apprentice mage threw herself in front of a fully-vetted knight, knowing that she would likely be killed for doing so?” He growled the last part of the sentence and slammed his fist loudly, clearly sensing the deception in the room.

 

“We were involved romantically Knight-Commander ser, we had been seeing each other in secret for over six months, of which only she and I were aware off.” Greagoir surged to his feet in anger, as Wynne stared at Cullen in complete bewilderment for revealing such a thing. Though honestly he was past caring, the man would find out one way or another he was sure.

 

“Tell me why I shouldn't have you thrown out of the order for such a breach of conduct? You are a knight of the Chantry and you have absolutely shamed this chapter with you lack of respect for both the rules and guidelines of the Circle and our faith.” He could see the man was seething in anger, his devotion to his duty and the tenants of the Circle had always garnered Greagoir both great respect and hatred, but the man was completely inflexible or sympathetic when it came to the consequences and never hesitated to carry them out.

 

“Ser Cullen I hearby-”

 

“Don't you utter another word Greagoir!” All three men were taken aback as Wynne came to her feat with an almost blinding fury.

 

“First Enchanter control your-” The man was cut of a second time as the livid Senior Enchanter silenced her superior with a finger, reeling back round and locking an enraged glare at Greagoir.

 

“How dare you be such a hypocrite Greagoir!” The man paled almost instantly as Cullen glanced to Irving, the bearded man was shaking his head profusely as if he wasn't wiling to hear this conversation. Something that made Cullen incredibly nervous, whereas before he had felt hollow and uncaring for his Knight-Commander as he admitted his dereliction of duty, but now he was actually concerned at the terrified look on his superiors face and the sheer rage emanating from Wynne.

 

“Wynne-”

 

“I said not a word.” She screeched hoarsely as Cullen's eyes ticked to the door, it was no doubt soundproofed with runes but the level of Wynne's voice still worried him.

 

“Now, you will listen and listen closely. You are not going to dismiss Cullen from the Order, you are going to patiently listen as he tells you what he has decided to do with himself, you will agree to his terms and answer any questions he asks.” She paused a moment, giving both Cullen a reassuring smile and Irving a small nod. “Otherwise I will let the entire tower know of the past.”

 

The room was silent as Cullen remained stunned at the outcome, Irving had begun to pace in a nervous manner, Wynne was sat back in her chair looking almost serene for a woman who had just erupted in anger. Greagoir though… he looked both ashamed and intensely sad as he kept his eyes on his desk, leaving Cullen's mind racing as too just what Wynne had implied.

 

“Ser Cullen.” He almost jumped at the sound of Greagoir's soft voice, glancing up to see a man still caught in a memory of the past. “I'm willing to overlook this transgression on one condition.”

 

He acknowledged Wynne's scowl as his eyes cleared of their glassy look, but didn't relent in his demand. “I want you to transfer out of Kinloch.”

 

“That is up to Cullen, Greagoir.” He held up a hand forestalling any further argument as he turned to Wynne.

 

“It's too dangerous Wynne, Uldred would simply use him as a target for the Libertarians to rally against. Even with Irving's support, many believe he is responsible for her death. I would have asked for him to be moved to another deployment.” His voice lowered and eyes darkened as he glanced to Cullen.”Regardless of his affiliation with apprentice Amell.”

 

“There are ways-”

 

“No Wynne, I agree, I can't stay here.” Greagoir sat back and crossed his arms, still refusing to look at Wynne and expose the painful shadows in his eyes, something Cullen was still trying to comprehend.

 

“Ser Cullen, I understand that it would be hard to walk these halls and not see someone you… loved?” He continued at Cullen's nod, ignoring the way Wynne was daring Greagoir to scoff or berate him. “But we have few Templars such as yourself, those who don't treat Mages as a burden or worse, as cursed monsters.”

 

“Now hold a moment Irving, my knights do no such thing.” Greagoir spat aggressively.

 

“Don't we ser?” He whipped round in indignation and glared at Cullen as he spoke. “We're forced to remain detached from them, to treat them as something less than an individual.”

 

“We do so to keep them safe, we have no room for hesitation if one were to fall to blood magic or possession.” He felt a surge of frustration at not only Greagoir but himself, he had thought like that once upon his arrival to Kinloch, but within months he couldn't help but think the Chantry wrong. Mages were people as well, not empty, soulless vessels.

 

“And that's what’s wrong...” He shifted uneasily, keeping focused Greagoir as Wynne and Irving listened with expressions of both satisfaction and pride. “We expect them to fail in our eyes, so we come down hard with tranquillity and isolation, and in doing so, end up forcing them in desperation to fall anyway, because they fear of us.”

 

“Ridiculous, you have been here what….two and half years. You know nothing Knight-Templar of what it means to carry out your duty here. It takes over a decade to realise the truth of things here.”

 

“It doesn't, perhaps you have been here too long Knight-Commander, you have become jaded and cold in your decades of duty. Like so many you forget Mages are just as terrified of their own powers and the chance of being possessed as we are, I was taught that the Templars were to guard and guide the Mages.” He paused a moment, turning the words over in his head. “Instead we segregate them and treat them as cattle that have to be managed.”

 

“How dare you!” Greagoir seethed, eyes alight with untarnished anger. “I wish to know what happened to the young initiate that arrived at this tower? The one with the Chant is his veins, the absolute desire to be the best Templar he could be.”

 

“He was worn away under the strain, seeing Mages being euthanised as Tranquil or executed for stepping out of line.” Cullen sat back feeling worn and exhausted at everything he had been forced to confront over the last twenty four hours. “He was sickened by the fear in each of the apprentices eyes at the thought of their harrowing, the terror they went to bed with as they prayed that the Templars didn’t come in the night for their ultimate test.”

 

“She did this… that girl has _corrupted_ you, taken away your sense of duty and your loyalty.”

 

“Greagoir… she has done no such thing.” The man swiped his hand in frustration as Irving sat by quietly.

 

“She put these ideas into your head, made you believe that we do this out of cruelty, instead of kindness.”

 

“No. She gave me a new perspective, one that wasn't hindered by my blind faith in the order.” The group fell into silence at his words, all of them contemplating the next step as Cullen refused to look away from the flushed and furious Knight Commander.

 

“You won't stay will you?” Cullen shook his head as Wynne gave a tremulous smile.

 

“I have-”

 

The foursome all tensed at the firm knock on the door, glancing between each other as Greagoir rose to unlock it. Pulling it open, he was met by a pair of knights with a rough, unwashed figure in robes between their arms.

 

“Ser, the mage requested from isolation. He has information on the Maleficar, says he's willing to speak.” Greagoir clasped the mans limp jaw and raised his head, meeting a pair of burning hazel eyes filled with disdain.

 

“So Anders, you have decided to talk?” The mage in question, a famed healer and known troublemaker nodded slowly, his eyes taking in the group sequestered in the office before reaching Cullen. They hardened to solid stone, pure resentment resonating from them as he glared at the Templar.

 

“You.” Greagoir glanced back and followed his eyes to Cullen, brow drawn high in both surprise and confusion at Anders quiet rasped words. “Your the reason she's dead!” The two Templars forced him to the floor as he roared in anger, struggling against there iron grips.

 

“Enough! Calm yourself or its back to the cell with you.” Anders spat on the floor in front of Cullen, ignoring the reprimand of his hair being tugged back by the large Knight-Corporal.

 

“Anders, stop this at once.” At seeing Wynne he deflated, nodding pitifully as Greagoir ordered his men to release him.

 

“Are you willing to talk… or am I sending you away?” He mumbled his consent as Greagoir and a single knight drew him into the office, closing the door firmly once more.

 

“Honestly, I didn't even know you had returned Anders. Where did they catch you this time?” He flashed a quick smile, far from the hostility he had shown Cullen a moment ago.

 

“West Hill, a lovely little sleepy village called Dwarton. It had-” He was cut of by Greagoir's distinct cough, his face switching from a jovial look to that of pain and weariness. Something that mirrored Cullen's feelings at that point in time.

 

“Right, so Jowan...” His hand tightened into a fist subconsciously, the unimaginable hatred bubbling hot in his stomach at the mere mention of that name.

 

“The Maleficar yes.” Greagoir prompted him to continue as the others listened.

 

“Yes, so I may have explained that the Kocari Wilds are pretty much the safest place from Templars, you know on account of the Chasind tribes, apostate camps and old towers scattered throughout those swamps.” Greagoir was rubbing his temples in some attempt to hold of a headache, his face pulled into a grimace that had Cullen on edge.

 

Anders seeing his annoyance barrelled on in some attempt to calm him. “But you know, I said that it was only viable if your phylactery was destroyed, otherwise the Templars would just ride into the swamps and find you by force.” They all jumped as Greagoir slammed his fist for a second time, cursing heavily under his breath.

 

“You bloody fool, if he gets through Redcliffe without being challenged. He's as good as gone, our only hope is to inform the Templar-Hunters at the local garrison and let them start tracking operations in the swamp.” Cullen was confused as too why Greagoir seemed so upset, they had Jowan's phylactery. What was the problem?

 

“Ser, surely his phylactery has been recovered and one of the squads are out in pursuit?” The Knight-Commander let out a reluctant sigh, clasping his forehead in what was a sign of displeasure.

 

“He managed to gain access to the phylactery vault and remove his own, that is why mage Anders here has basically given him an all-inclusive pass to freedom. Finding him in those swamps would be impossible, even with the regular patrols from Redcliffe that scour them.”

 

Cullen felt the wind get knocked out of him, Jowan was going to escape and there was nothing anything of the could do to stop him. Without a phylactery he was just another traveller on the roads, albeit one who may be inexperienced due to his limited time outside the tower. “Do you have any other information Anders.”

 

The mage shrugged his shoulders slightly, looking more than guilty as he stared at the ground. “I may have told him of a Mage-collective safehouse in Gherlen's path, one with enough supplies to travel half the country without a need to stop.” Cullen wanted to smash the blonde mage's face in, to scream and shout at the unfairness of the situation he had created, but instead he remained seated sharing the disappointed looks of Wynne and Irving instead.

  
“Thank you Anders, though you have technically assisted in the escape of a known blood mage, you made the right decision to inform us. We will handle it from here, you may go.”

  
“Go? Back to my own chambers?” Greaoir nodded as the man let out a relieved sigh, perking up and then seeming to remember the reality of what had happened before deflating.

 

“He won't be found Greagoir, call of your knights. It is a matter left to Knight-Commander Tavish and his hunter teams.” The knight in question shook his head at Irving, looking years older as he scribbled down a note and handed it to the Knight-Corporal standing next to Anders.

 

“Hand over Anders to your colleague with orders to take him to his quarters and get this to the aviary Ser Richard.” At the man’s salute he dragged the scruffy renegade with him, but not before the mage threw a last hateful look at Cullen before he left.

 

“So that's it?” Cullen couldn't help but snarl, rounding on Greagoir in outrage. “We just let him go!?”

 

“There is nothing to do Ser Cullen, without his phylactery we both know tracking him will be based on blind luck, better we let the knights at Redcliffe have their chance.” His mind was ticking fast as a sudden bout of clarity gave him the energy to leap up, fixing his superior with a firm look.

 

“I want to request retraining ser.”

 

The three adults looked towards the young knight in incomprehension, sharing a series of confused glances before Greagoir spoke. “Retraining as?”

 

“As a Templar Hunter ser, and a transfer to Redcliffe when I finish up.” Wynne rose with a concerned look, one mirrored on Irving's face.

 

“Cullen… you aren't doing this in some vain attempt to hunt down Jowan are you?” He clenched his fists, curling his lip and nodding slowly.

  
“I have to, no one else has the drive to find him.” Greagoir looked contemplative as he assessed Cullen, though he had no doubt he would meet the prerequisites, he was considered a prodigy Templar both in ability and skill, shown by his attendance at the Dantius Academy in Hunter Fell.

 

“I find your opinion towards Mages may be too biased to perform such duties Ser Cullen, Hunters are expected to deal with the most dangerous and malignant apostates in existence, their job usually relates to elimination, not recovery.” Cullen made a frustrated sound, shaking is head in annoyance.

 

“Ser I agree that the Circle is needed, that Mages need guidance, I just don't find how we perceive and treat them as the correct way about it. And if you think my sympathies extend to violent escapees and Blood Mages, then you have not been listening closely enough.” Greagoir had a calculated gleam in his eye as he stared at Cullen, a thought pattern that had Wynne interjecting.

 

“Cullen, you will see the very worst of magi kind as a Hunter, many aren't allowed to serve in Circles after experiencing that role, their time in seeing what magic can be capable of when twisted to one's base desires leaves them both prejudice and incredibly resentful of Mages.” She gave a sad smile. “I don't want to see you become like that.”

 

“I understand Wynne, but remember I know far too many good Mages to ever have my opinion brought so low.” He tried to give a reassuring smile, something she returned with more of a grimace.

 

“Regardless, it gives both Ser Cullen a role he can carry out effectively and a way to have him far from the tower where he is at risk of vigilantes.” Greagoir reached into his draw pulling aside a small stack of pre-written papers and began to fill them out.

 

“Ser Cullen are you sure you wish this to be your future, there is still a role here in the tower for you.” Irving was stroking his beard slowly, an almost pleading look on his face for Cullen to relent.

 

“I do, I would have one more request if you may First Enchanter.” Irving sat up at Cullen's words, blowing out a fatigued breath.

 

“And that may-be?”

 

“Alim Surana has the remains of Jowan's personal belongings, including a ring of his fathers, somehting that he wore everyday, something I believe he abandoned to avoid identification.” Wynne and Greagoir shared a knowing look as Cullen stood with a stretch.

 

“You wish to use it as an item for scrying don't you.” At Cullen's nod the man began to lean against the staff, mind working quickly.

 

“It will likely be at its most effective within a hundred metres or so, after that his magical signature will be lost amongst the natural transient magic that leaks through the veil.”

 

“I understand, but it gives me a valid way to track him when the Hunters enter the Kocari Wilds on patrol.”

 

“Then let us see it done, I will have your transfer papers filled out by the end of day Ser Cullen. Denerim will be the garrison you will retrain at. I hope when we meet again I see a young knight who has truly dedicated himself to the Order Ser Cullen, you have the potential to go far. Do not let your personal opinions stop that.”

 

“Thank you ser, may I be dismissed.”

 

“Go, you will have this evening off to say your goodbyes, I want you to be at the docks before nightfall and will have a horse made ready for you.”

 

“Very well Ser Cullen, Wynne and I will stop by your quarters before the ninth bell and I will let Alim know you'd like to see him immediately.”

  
“Thank you First Enchanter, Wynne.” He ducked out the room quickly, mind running fast as he tried to truly consider what he had just agreed too.

* * *

 

 

 

“So I hear you have requested a transfer to be retrained Cullen?” He glanced back to meet the lithe form of Alim Surana leaning against his doorway, two Templars at his back that remained silent behind their helms.

 

“Yes Alim, I'm afraid I can't stay.” He paused a moment, looking past the elven mage and nodding to the two knights. “It's alright, he can stay with me the for moment alone, you may grab some food from the mess brothers. The First Enchanter and another Mage will be here momentarily anyway.”

 

“Very well Ser Cullen, take care of yourself.”

 

“And you too.” He waved the pair of as he guided Alim into his personal chambers, shutting the door firmly before taking a position on the bed.

 

“I must say I am not surprised, today has been...” He trailed off as Cullen studied the bags under his eyes and the pale pallor of his usually bronze skin, despite living in a tower without normal sunlight. It was unusual to see Alim Surana without words, his close friend was usually incredibly introspective and careful with the way he spoke, not surprising considering the intelligence he held behind those slate grey eyes.

 

“Unfathomable… I don't think its even really hit me yet.” Alim nodded, his eyes still focused on the moon far in the night sky through the chamber window. Surana was tall for an elf at nearly 5'9, his face was sharp with a thin jaw that tapered off into a pair of distinct long pointed ears. He had always, for as long as Cullen had known him, kept his hair shaved incredibly short. It gave him a very imposing presence amongst Mages when combined with a surprisingly toned form, though Cullen knew Alim loved nothing more than wielding a staff in practice, something shown by the muscle definition in his shoulders.

 

“I believe I may say the same, It is currently impossible for me to consider starting a day without Solona.” Cullen shared a knowing wistful smile, both familiar with the early rising attitude of a girl they both loved, albeit in different ways. He was struck suddenly about how he hadn't considered Alim's feelings on him leaving, as far as he could remember the pair had been friends with Alim being the first mage to ever approach him willingly since his arrival to Kinloch.

 

“I… are you angry at me leaving?” Alim tilted his head looking serious for a moment, before smirking sadly.

 

“I always thought you would be one for righteous retribution.” Of course Alim knew what he was planning, no doubt immediately putting the two together when Cullen requested him to find an object of Jowan's to scry.

 

“I can't let him just escape without punishment, the fact he has no phylactery is of no concern to me, I will find him.”

 

“I agree, I don’t believe I know someone with a stronger reserve of willpower, it is easily shown in the strength of your Templar abilities.” The pair blew out weary sighs, both lost in consideration in tracking down someone who had been a brother to Solona.

 

“When you find him Cullen, make his death quick. I would imagine he never meant all this to happen.” Cullen's refusal was cut off by the next words, words that he was unable to deny the truth of. “Solona would not want him to suffer, no matter what he had done.”

 

“Very well.” He responded gruffly. “Do you have the ring?”

 

The elf produced a small intricate band of gold inlaid with onyx scripting, simple but quite unusual, not a ring that was easily ignored. “It worked well, you need only bring it within about a hundred metres of Jowan and the metal will heat up, the closer you get the hotter it will be.”

 

“Thank you.” The elf nodded, shaking his head sadly at the fact it had come to this.

 

“It's hard to believe Jowan a blood mage. He was always weak in magical ability… but this.”

 

“He poses a great risk to public, the chances of possession each time he casts is far too dangerous. I fear it is only a matter of time before he becomes an abomination.” Alim nodded quietly.

 

“Something I do not disagree, it is not a fate I would wish on any, you must find him and put an end to my once close friend.” Cullen felt a pang of guilt for Alim, not only had he lost Solona and Jowan, but Cullen was now leaving as well. Leaving with the task of killing a ma he once called brother.

 

“Will you be alright here Alim, perhaps a transfer to another Circle?”

 

“No, I will be fine. It will take some adjustment, but I will find my own way.” Cullen stood and drew the mage into a hug, both taking a moment to say goodbye.

  
“I will write when I can, no doubt Wynne will ensure you get my messages.” The elf grinned, giving a wan smile before moving over to the window.

 

“I will look forward to your stories, you must detail your adventures out there in the world.”

 

“Ha, for the first six months expect me complaining of sore limbs and anger at my training officer.”

 

“Indeed, I have heard it is no easy task being a Templar Hunter, you will face many dangerous foes.” Cullen shrugged his shoulders, if her were honest, he always felt his talents wasted as a guardian at Kinloch, perhaps his role as a Hunter would help fill the gap in his heart where Solona was, Maker knew he wished for nothing more that some form of contentment in this world.

 

“I know, but I could use some freedom from this tower. Too many memories and missing faces.” _One in particular if I am honest._

 

“I understand Cullen, truly.” Alim blew out a sigh, “Perhaps one day I will wander the world myself.”

 

Cullen gave an amused grin before sobering. “Oh, I mean no offence Alim but the Circle doesn’t allow Mages to… 'wander'.

 

“Then I will have to become a Grey Warden.” Both held each others gaze before bursting out in laughter at Alim's dry response, the pair had always shared the same sense of humour, something that had helped break down the barriers between Templar and Mage in their early days.

 

The two friends were interrupted by a knock on the door, revealing both Wynne and Irving. Cullen didn’t even want to think what it must look like to have three of the towers most reputable Mages in his quarters within the Templar barracks.

 

“Are you all packed Cullen?” At his nod Wynne smiled sadly.

 

“I see, Ser Cullen It has been a pleasure to work alongside a knight with your morals and open mind.” He shook the elderly Mages hand, giving him a nod of respect. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”

 

“Thank you First Enchanter.” He glanced to Wynne as the door was opened once more, a squad of knights ready to escort him to the docks.

 

“Cullen, please remember. There is a fine line between revenge and justice. If you find Jowan, make sure his fate is brought about by the right reasons, Solona would want no less.”

 

“I will Wynne. Take care, all of you."

* * *

 

 

 

_Authors note_

 

_The next time 'Curly' would step forth in Kinloch, it would be the day the tower fell. An event that is still infamous even today after the Mage-Templar war._

 

_Now, I will be honest, well Elissa is far more forthcoming about her early years. Getting 'Curly' to open up about his time as a Templar…. Well put simply is like trying to pull a Kossith's teeth with forceps. Painful and pointless._

 

_His time as a Knight of the Chantry is both short, brutal and heartbreaking. Not something I take lightly of course. The few times I've seen him at the Amell graveyard over on the Wounded Coast, lets just say even I have trouble meeting the open agony in his eyes when he visits a certain tombstone._

 

_They do say you never get over your first love, and 'Curly' he didn't even get closure or a goodbye…_

 

_What few details I have so far about her part in his life, are mainly based from the accounts of one Senior Enchanter Wynne and my close friend 'Warden Constable Alim Surana'. They have relayed some information on his time in Kinloch and Solona Amell, but as I said its scarce and for 'Curly's' sake they don't want to break his trust in them._

 

_As we all know now, his time in the Circle certainly shaped who he would become, but I'm afraid his time as a Hunter was kept rather quiet. By the time he reached Highever two years later, he was a very different man from what I can tell, and I have only a few ideas as too why._


End file.
